


grief

by giornotrans



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Office, Angst with a Happy Ending, Divorce, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gaslighting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Non-Graphic Smut, Other, Physical Abuse, fatphobia, ineffable bureaucracy shippers don't come for my throat pls, it's only slightly mentioned but still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-07 21:57:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20824460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giornotrans/pseuds/giornotrans
Summary: Aziraphale Z. Fell considers his life happy. He lives with Gabriel, stays home, reads books.He doesn't start questioning it until he meets a mysterious man at a work party, and it falls apart at the seams from there.





	1. denial

**Author's Note:**

> this!!! is gonna be sad. and gonna be triggering
> 
> i swear there's going to be a happy ending, but please, be good to yourself. don't read if anything in the tags triggers you. also check the tags with each update because there might be more added. 
> 
> and also,  
none of the opinions of the bad characters (coughsgabrielcoughs) reflects my own opinions. this is also a half-vent fic, unfortunately.

Aziraphale, for the better part of the day, had been reading. He was quite comfortable with a nice book, and sometimes a mug of hot cocoa. He had finished it around 4 PM, and started dinner.

He was a functioning adult, and he always told himself he didn't need to rely on people for company. An example he gave himself was Gabriel being gone for the whole day. He didn't enjoy the company he was given from the man, but every time he tried to mention breaking up, the topic would be changed or challenged. There was no winning.

("Well, what about that time you decided to embarrass me at that work party?"

"Embarrass? Aziraphale, you did that to yourself. I saved you from it," Gabriel was giving him a leveled look from the other side of the table, unforgiving gaze never straying.

"You told them I was like a trophy wife!" He snapped back, posture rigid.

"Darling, your memory must be failing you. You had made a small joke, and Michael had made a joke back, and I came over to distract them."

The conversation was over. Aziraphale couldn't help but to believe it.)

He sighed, putting the stove on simmer so it'd be hot by the time Gabriel would get home. He strays into the living room, turning the TV on. He wasn't big on movies or television, but it was something to pass the time.

It was around 6 PM when Gabriel had finally arrived, the front door opening and the sound of him kicking off his shoes. Aziraphale got up from the couch, stretching, looking at the time. He wandered out of the living room, finding Gabriel in the kitchen. "Home already?"

Gabriel kissed his forehead, unfortunately, and smiled. "Yeah. The current case was won, so we were all let go early tonight." 

  


"I think you should start wearing less constricting clothing, darling," Gabriel said before taking a bite of chicken. Aziraphale nearly choked on his wine.

"Excuse me?"

"Maybe a T-Shirt, or some shorts. You're always in those sweaters and vests."

"You did say that I should cover myself up more until I could establish a proper work-out regiment, Gabriel." Aziraphale sighed at the memory. It made his chest ache.

Gabriel let out a frustrated huff, stabbing a vegetable harshly. "Your memory, again? I think you should see a doctor. You were feeling bad about your _rolls_, and I simply had suggested it."

Aziraphale wanted to wither away into nothing. Of course, he was forgetting things, again.

"Sorry, dear," He whispered, taking another sip of wine. He wished he was alone, so he could fill the glass up all the way.

There was an uncomfortable pause of silence. Aziraphale awkwardly picked at his food, knowing better than to excuse himself from the table.

"There's another work party next month. I think you should wear that sweater I got you for your birthday, since it's starting to cool down." Gabriel was good at changing topics. Thankfully, this one was far from their prior conversation.

"Do you think it'll look good with that blue jacket?" He suggests. Gabriel usually liked to pick out his outfits for public outings, and rarely did Aziraphale suggest things.

"I think it'll look lovely," Gabriel said with a pleased smile. Aziraphale felt a glimmer of warmth in his chest.

  


They arrived at the building on time, and Gabriel helped him out of the car, insisting on being a gentleman for the evening. They walked in, and instantly he was alone among people who he only knew names of.

He secludes himself to the champagne, taking small sips at a time to not get anywhere near tipsy. Every now and then, he'd spot his boyfriend talking to a colleague or a spouse.

A tall man, dressed in all black, sauntered up, holding an almost empty cup. "What's a pretty face like you doing standing in the corner? Thought these parties were for _socializing_." The man spoke with such venom, Aziraphale couldn't help but be glad that Gabriel was the way he was.

"Ah. Well, my boyfriend works at this firm, and unfortunately I am always his plus one," He says as he gives a watery smile. He really wanted to leave the event before 10, though he doubted that'll happen.

The man hums a noise, swirling the liquid in his cup. He stands out from the crowd, definitely. If not for the fire red hair and the black suit, then for the way his posture leaned and the way he acted. Aziraphale admires him, almost.

"Can't you jus' ask to stay home? Fake being ill, or somethin'? It works like a charm, most of the time. 'nfortunately my spouse dragged me along this time. They're over there, talkin' with that ass hat _Gabriel_."

Aziraphale looks, and indeed he sees Gabriel, who is happily talking with Bee, one of the CEOs. He frowns, glancing at the stranger. "Gabriel happens to be my boyfriend."

The man gawks at him, and Aziraphale feels uncomfortable. He's had the speech ten times over with Gabriel. That he doesn't deserve a man like him, that he'd be nothing without him, etc, etc. Surprisingly, that's not what he gets this time.

"_That _asshole? You're with him? Willingly? Fuck, if you had said you were with the devil himself I would've felt less sorry for you. Why? What'd big, stupid Mr. What The Fuck is a Computer do to win over your seemingly angelic heart?"

Aziraphale barely controls his laughter at the reaction. He knows how bad Gabriel was with computers, and even he has had to show him out to undo things in Google Documents. ("It's CTRL-Z, dear." "What's CTRL?" "Control." "There's no button that says Control!" "I- Ugh-")

"Well, he says that I'd be nowhere without him. It's simple, really. On his good days, he's quite nice at home, really." He meets the stranger's gaze, or what he thinks is his gaze behind the dark shades. His expression had fallen, and was now unreadable as he stares at Aziraphale.

"What else does he say?" Is what he's met with, and he couldn't be more confused.

"Er. Well. He really doesn't say he loves me often, but I know he does because he's quite adamant on reminding me that no matter how much I don't deserve him, I'm only there because he wants me to be. His words, almost exactly. Quite nice." He breathes. He's never said anything to someone else. He doesn't know what's acceptable or not in a relationship, and had never wanted to be criticized on it.

There's silence. Had he said something wrong? Oh, he really hopes not. The company of the stranger was quite pleasing, to say the least.

He watches Gabriel move between conversations and to other people, keeping the same smile on his face the whole time, shaking hands with people. He's always envied how well Gabriel got along with others, and how professional and social he was.

He's used to Gabriel never speaking to him during the parties, and them recapping the night's events in the car and in bed. Thankfully, they never did much in bed except sleep. Aziraphale was quite uncomfortable with the concept of sexual intimacy, though Gabriel insisted it was because of inexperience, though never _demanded_ it, which Aziraphale was also grateful for.

He doesn't realize how long they've been standing silently until Bee is coming up, glancing at Aziraphale with a fake smile. "There you are, Anthony. I hope you haven't had too much to drink. Your alcoholism is quite unattractive," They say, not bothering to censor themselves around Aziraphale. Who could he gossip to that didn't already know?

"Good thing I'm not trying to attract others. I've only had a cup."

They give him a pointed look.

"I'm not lying! Angel, tell them I've only had a cup." 

Aziraphale blinked. 1, his name was _not _Angel. 2, he was being included in on a conversation.

"I- It's Aziraphale, and I wouldn't know. You could've had three before coming over here, for all I know."

Bee rolls their eyes, taking "Anthony"'s cup and drinking what was left in it.

"I swear, the more I talk to Gabriel the more my head hurts. Does he have to be happy _all_ the time."

He knows it's a rhetoric question, but he answers anyway. "Oh, well, he's not happy all the time. Especially not at home. I think he's just trying to be friendly."

Bee lifts an eyebrow at him, before realizing. "Oh! I forgot you're with him... He always avoids talking about you."

"Oh."

Aziraphale doesn't know what else to say. Gabriel's probably ashamed, anyway.

Bee eventually walks off, and Aziraphale sighs, leaning against the wall. He wouldn't mind leaving. He almost forgets the presence of this so-called Anthony, whose head is angled slightly in his direction.

"So, uh. How long have you and Bee been together? I've never seen you during a party."

"4 years. Well, we've been married that long. It was an arranged marriage, and we just tolerate each other. How long have you and Gabriel been together? Any plans on marrying?" The way he asks is full of hesitance and reluctance.

"We've been together just about 2 years. And, well, I'd be lucky if he even considers co-owning a _dog_ with me." He gives a bitter laugh, looking down at his shoes. 

Anthony is staring at him with a frown, now.

"You're not happy?"

"I'm very happy. Just... I don't think I'd be his first choice in a spouse. Far from it. He already does a lot of work on trying to change habits I have."

Anthony's frown somehow deepens.

"Aziraphale, do you know what gas-lighting is?"

He blinks.

"Yes, I do. Why?"

Anthony looks away.

"No reason."  


  



	2. anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ableism and self harm in the form of starving tw
> 
> it gets worse before it gets better :eyes:

The first time it happens, it's over quickly. There's no big deal to it.

He's doing the dishes, rinsing them off before putting them into the dishwasher for the next load. It merely slips from his hands, and shatters onto the floor. He holds his breath as the sound rings out, and then he hears footsteps. He's already trying to collect the big pieces so he's not seen just standing there.

"Darling, are you alright?" Gabriel is asking. He rounds the corner, and sees Aziraphale picking up the pieces. "Oh. Did your hand slip?" He's walking over, and helping pick up the pieces. He just nods, and it's over quickly. Gabriel helps him put the rest of the dishes up, and the dishwasher is then set to run.

"Sorry, dear."

"It's fine. Mistakes happen. Just, don't let it happen again." He's given a smile, and a peck on the cheek. He leans against the counter, sighing.

They had just had a fight. Another one about his so-called memory issues. He's nauseous thinking about how much Gabriel has told him he forgot. Some events were even just days before, and he had already forgotten major details? 

He's doing the thing he does again, the one that Gabriel (like always) disapproves of. He picks something up and sets it in another place, fidgeting around the room.

He lifts up a mug from earlier, inspecting the design, noticing it was empty. He goes to set it down. He thinks he makes it to the table.

A crash, and it's on the floor, handle having fallen off.

Gabriel stomps into the room, a scowl on his face and a phone in his hand.

He sees Aziraphale standing there in shock.

"Ugh! Again?" He snarls, approaching. "Last time I checked, you weren't some crippled bastard that needs supervision."

Aziraphale winces.

"I- I'm sorry, dear. M- My hand must have slip-"

"Shut up and clean up the mess." Gabriel was gone again. Aziraphale is shaking once more but not for the same reason.

He takes a nap. Wakes up only when Gabriel gets home. He feels his stomach drop. He didn't start dinner, and he knows how strict he was about dinner being done on time. Maybe he'd let it slide.

He greets him in the entrance room, smiling. "Hello, dear. I'm afraid I haven't gotten around to make dinner. I had taken a n-" He stops himself when Gabriel just brushes past without a word.

He follows timidly, already having broken out in a cold sweat. Gabriel could be scary when he's mad.

"Dear?"

"It's fine, darling. I just want to sleep."

Ah. That voice. It must have been a sadder case, and he'll hear about it over the weekend, eventually.

He feels relief as he hears Gabriel climb up the stairs. There had been no yelling. No punishment. Aziraphale would be fine.

They have to stop by the firm to pick up some papers Gabriel left. Aziraphale only goes in to say hello to Michael, who gives him a soft hug and a pat on the shoulder.

He sees Anthony and Bee, and can't help but light up.

"Anthony!" He calls, making his way over. The red head turned to meet his gaze, and smiled back, which was rare he assumed, due to the look that Bee gave Anthony.

"Aziraphale. What're you doing here?" He asks once they're a few feet away from each other. He hadn't strayed too far from the entrance, far enough that Gabriel wouldn't see him directly when coming down the hall.

"Oh, Gabriel forgot some papers. We were just about to go to a dinner party. Tracy Potts is holding one, and I convinced him to go."

They talk more, and exchange numbers, much to the amusement of Bee, who laughed their way through the exchange. ("Never in my pathetic life have I see Anthony be so _soft_.") Surely, Gabriel wouldn't mind?

He leaves after about ten minutes. The dinner party goes well, and they're back home eventually. He had texted Anthony twice already, who responded each time with a quickness Aziraphale never hoped to achieve. Gabriel had convinced him to get a smart phone only because it'd make tracking him when he was out more convenient.

"You got a new friend?" Is asked in the car after the party. Aziraphale is smiling down at his phone, which displayed a cute picture of a snake that Anthony had sent him.

"Oh, yes. It's Anthony, Bee's husband. I don't know i-" He's stopped by Gabriel nearly swerving off the road. He looks to see Gabriel absolutely _fuming_.

"Anthony? Anthony Crowley? Arrogant, insufferable red head with a temper shorter than your experience with anyone who could love you?" 

"Unnecessary, and yes. That Anthony. He's quite nice to talk to when you bother to try." 

They have "playful" quarrels every now and then, ones that Aziraphale feels comfortable in retorting back. Even if Gabriel looks like he could kill someone.

"Don't, Azira. He's bad news. Went to the same college as him, and he was the worst person in existence. He's only allowed to work there because Bee works there. I swear... Probably cheats on them, too."

Aziraphale frowns. Gabriel knows how much he hates nicknames, and he knows it's only used when Aziraphale does or says something that the man finds wrong.

"Well, one can change in a decade. Besides, I'm allowed to have my friends. We don't have to always have mutual friends."

Gabriel grumbles something, but leaves it, thankfully. 

**anthony**   
**21:45**   
_you up? :/_

Aziraphale pulls his gaze from his book, and looks at the text. He picks up his phone, typing something.

**you**   
**21:46**   
_Yes. What is it that you would like?_

The reply was immediate. He must type fast.

**anthony**   
**21:46**   
_can't help but think abt our convo... u good? sounds like gabes a real asshole. also don't listen to anything he says abt me. we've been at each other's throats since college and i wouldnt be surprised if hed do shit to make u hate me_

**you**   
**21:48**   
_I am quite alright, dear boy. Thank you for worrying. He did say something, but nothing much. Why are you worried?_

He sighs, putting his book up. He hears his phone go off twice, and hurries to go back to it.

**anthony**   
**21:48**   
_abused like 3 girls in college. im just worried about u_

**anthony**   
**21:48**   
_fuck, sorry. i must sound like an asshole. ill leave u alone. tell him i said hi_

**you**   
**21:49**   
_I've heard about what he's done, courtesy of Michael. But, our relationship is quite stable. And I will tell him. Good night, dear boy._

He shuts off his phone, sighing. He knows he should take the warnings, now that there were two people telling him, seriously. Really, Gabriel can't be that terrible?

He eventually goes upstairs, seeing the covers on his side pulled back. He smiled, glancing at Gabriel, who had been asleep for majority of the evening, and quickly got changed into pajamas.

"Were you really that... terrible in college, dear?" He asks at breakfast. It was Saturday, meaning Gabriel was home all day. He swears the fork would've snapped if it hadn't been metal.

"Oh. You hear about it from Anthony, huh?" He sneers, glaring daggers at him.

"No. Not just Anthony, dear. I don't take rumors into consideration if just one person has spoken of them."

"What? Afraid I'll be like that to you?"

"Absolutely not. I know that you love me." Aziraphale fights to keep his tone level.

Gabriel laughs. "Love you? A marriage is love." Aziraphale feels his heart sink. "I find you... endearing, darling. How many times do I have to tell you that no one is willing to love you before you realize?" Gabriel stands, dropping his fork onto the table.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to do some paper work in my office. Don't. Disturb me."

"Yes, dear," Aziraphale croaks out, staring at his plate. He doesn't feel hungry anymore.

The conversation is forgotten, eventually, but only by Gabriel. Halloween rolls around and he's being dragged to more events. More things to do. Aziraphale becomes more secluded by the day.

He doesn't text Anthony. Barely looks at his phone. ("You should delete Anthony's contact, darling," Gabriel had said. "I will, dear," Aziraphale had lied back. One of the few successful attempts at lying.)

Every time it was a work related event, he'd avoid Anthony. He knows he'd get a "I told you so," or something along those lines. 

"You've lost some weight, good," Gabriel had said at one point, seeing Aziraphale in the midst of getting his shirt on.

He can't bring himself to admit that it's only because he feels to sick to eat. All he feels is constant dread, after that conversation. Constant dread and growing loneliness and the loss of hope.

He only smiles, nods.

"Did you know," Anthony begins, looking into his wine glass. He's had too many glasses, but no one dares to stop him. "birds pluck their own feathers when they're stressed?" He meets Aziraphale's gaze.

He makes a noncommittal noise, just glad to get away from the stifling presence of Gabriel.

"Humans do it, too. Though, we don't have feathers... But we stop caring. We become... worse looking." 

There's a lengthy pause as they watch people mingle, two outcasts watching an ebbing sea.

"What has stressed you?" Anthony whispers.

Aziraphale would get offended, or mad, or sad, if he could.

He enjoys the cold. He likes the feeling his cheeks get when he's coming inside, and he likes being wrapped up in so many layers for a reason. He loves the snow, loves watching it fall. Some would call it melancholy, but he calls it peace.

Gabriel had told him he wasn't allowed outside if he wasn't there. He feels like a caged bird, now. He'd stop asking to break up a while ago, but he feels like if he had just tried more, maybe he would've escaped this.

Sitting on the window sill, he stares outside, a blank look on his face. He wants outside. He wants to go kick around in the snow and feel the cold around him. Maybe walk to the park.

He got a notification, and he picks up his phone. 

It's a video, sent from Anthony.

He clicks on it, and sees a black bar across the middle. He's learned that videos with that are most likely from a platform called 'SnapChat.' 

The black bar simply says 'asshole,' and it's a short clip of a gloved hand throwing a snowball at Gabriel. He can't help but laugh, knowing it was Anthony.

He texts back,

**you**   
**13:21**   
_Haha! Just make sure he doesn't get any frost bite. :)_

**anthony**   
**13:24**   
_no guarantee, angel_

Anthony had taken to calling him angel about a month ago, claiming that every time there was just a bit of light behind him, he seemed to light up. He had simply said "Don't let Gabriel catch you calling me that." They laughed it off, but they both knew that he had been serious. There would be consequence, most likely for Aziraphale.

He sighs and sets down his phone, going back to staring out the window. He's had a cup of hot chocolate that day, something rare nowadays. He washed his face, showered, even practiced a little makeup that Gabriel didn't know he had.


	3. bargaining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is my love for reptiles showing? maybe  
tw for mention of feeding rodents to snakes + for mention of physical abuse :(
> 
> \+ im so so sorry this is so short. the next 2 chapter are going to be a lot longer and i have a lot more planned for them

2 years

It was raining softly, and he quite enjoyed the sound on the roof of the car. The heater was blowing, soft music was playing from the radio. They had stopped at a store, and he had decided to stay in the car since they only needed milk and a few other things.

He stared at his hands, at the ring on his pinkie, his nails that were once manicured and now simply just taken care of. He didn't have the energy to give himself manicures anymore, and he knows Gabriel won't let him get it professionally done at a salon.

He sighed, letting himself lean back into the seat, watching water drip down the windshield.

He couldn't help his hand wandering up, nails grazing over the ring of bruises on his wrist, just under the sleeve. They were very clear fingerprints, and he didn't dare do anything that could put Gabriel at risk, like not covering up.

He vaguely wonders how Anthony was doing. He hasn't spoken to him in well over a year, due to Gabriel's recurring disapproval of their friendship. He remembers him talking about a divorce, and something about a flower parlor, or a pet shop. 

The car door opened and Gabriel got into the car, setting the groceries in the back seat. 

They didn't say anything as they started the car ride home.

Aziraphale thumbs through a book, finding his place where he left off annotations. He continued them, squinting at the fuzzy looking words as his vision refused to focus. 

It was an Oscar Wilde book, and an older copy, with a smudge of a signature. It was well read and torn, and Aziraphale has done all he could to hold the pages and spine into place. Now, the pages were covered in red and blue ink, small notes and thoughts.

Gabriel never bothered him when he knew he was busy, a grace given. Aziraphale was easily snapped out of his thoughts, and it would take days for him to get in the mood to busy himself with the books again. 

Quiet classical music was playing softly, and it helped deter any fretting thoughts over Gabriel or the last time he was allowed to talk to someone without the overbearing presence of his boyfriend.

He sighed, blinking away the blurriness of the lack of blinking, eyes watering. As he looked back to the page, the words felt like they were swimming around the yellowed paper, and he finally shut the book and put back his pens.

He stood, stretching, hearing the soft cracking of his stiff joints from sitting in one place for too long. He's always done that, and would go hours without a bathroom break or food and water.

He left the room, shutting the door softly behind him. It was already dark outside, and he was sure Gabriel was already asleep. Though, as he wanders into their bedroom, he finds that he wasn't in there.

And, after some searching, he wasn't even in the house. Had he come home at all?

Crowley sighed, putting up the last pot on the shelf. Looking around the shop, it was well lit, contributed to by the LED lights, which hurt his eyes though made the plants look appealing to the customers. He'd just gotten done with his rounds, watering the plants and testing the soil. It was well past closing time, but he found joy in caring for them.

He shut off the lights for the plants and walked further into the store, where the reptiles and fish were kept. They had constant lights on them, due to heating lamps and usual necessities. 

"Alright, Oscar," He mumbled as he opened the lid to the meal worms, opening the top of the aquarium he kept the bearded dragon, Oscar, in. He carefully put the food in the tweezers, and continued with each of the reptiles that ate the worms. Then, he brought out the now defrosted mice and rabbits for the snakes.

It was 1 A.M. by the time he was done feeding all of them, and he finally walked up the stairs to his flat, yawning.

Aziraphale woke up to Gabriel in bed beside him, and he carefully moved out from under the covers and got dressed for the day. He still wore his usual attire around the house, the waistcoat and cardigan and trousers. He liked the accessories and never feeling too cold.

He started the coffee pot, started the kettle. Sighed as he stopped at the largest window in the living space, watching as rain fell.


	4. depression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then there's light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for self destructive tendencies, self harm (not extreme), and suicidal thoughts, + physical abuse mentions  
because i was so mean in the beginning, i added some fluff :')

He shuffles his way toward the unfamiliar car, an old fashioned Bentley that looked well used but well cared for. Anxiety is bubbling in his throat, and he almost wants to turn and run, but the door opens anyway.

Anthony. Of course, he knew it was going to be Anthony. But, it still felt like he was drowning yet taking a breath of relief at the same time.

He gets into the car, onto the passenger seat. The seats are a nice, smooth leather that must be unpleasant on warmer days. He can't look at the other man.

They sit for a moment, just the two of them in one space, their breaths fogging up the window against the cold December weather outside.

"Erm," Anthony starts.

"I'm terribly sorry, dear. I just- I had no one else to call, and- and forgive me for not talking to you for so long. You ought to know it wasn't exactly my choice, but I can't seem to ha-"

He's cut off before he can go on longer.

"It's fine. Aziraphale, it's fine." Anthony doesn't have his signature sunglasses, he realizes. And that his eyes are a brilliant hazel that looks almost gold. And that they're brimmed with worry, paired with how his eyebrows were pressed together.

Aziraphale quiets himself, taking a soft breath. He's shaking, and he would cry if he felt it proper. It wasn't.

The car engine starts with a rumble, and the heater cuts on.

"You can just drop me off at a sh-" He's cut off again.

"No."

He frowns.

"Then where else?"

Anthony's shoulders raise to his ears, and his already red face (from the chill) darkens just a tad more.

"I was thinkin' my place. There's.. There's'a spare bedroom you can use. I just really don't want you where you're around strangers."

"I would think we're hardly more than strangers..." Aziraphale murmurs.

"Well, you know my name."

He makes a hum of agreement and understanding.

"Thank you."

It was Anthony's turn to make a sound of acknowledgement.

They pulled up to a shop, parking on the curb, where Anthony always parks.

In the early morning light (it was now 6 A.M.), he could see it was a shop, one that had a dim glow from behind the blinds.

Anthony unlocks the door, bustling Aziraphale in, mumbling about the cold.

It was quite warm in the shop, and as the lights flickered on he could see rows and rows of flowers and other plants on the shelves.

He gasps quietly, forgetting the traumas of the night for a moment, letting himself wander down the aisles.

"Oh, Anthony, these are beautiful. You take care of them all by yourself?" He looks over his shoulder out of habit, and is surprised to see Anthony there, and a surprisingly soft smile on his face.

"Uh, I, yeah." Then, Anthony is walking ahead and rounding the corner. "C'mere, angel."

Aziraphale walks around and sees a large doorway, with no door.

It leads into a different part of the shop, and he inspects the aquariums full of branches and rocks and little makeshift ponds. Each had a different kind of reptile, and he admired them all evenly.

The shower was hot, and he quite enjoyed it. He usually never showered at this temperature, but it was soothing on the bruises and other unpleasant markings. He didn't dare look at himself in the mirror when he had been undressing, and knew better for when he got out.

He leaned into the spray, sighing as it washed over his face.

He was used to a bath after stressful situations. Always made himself one, but couldn't fathom what self destructive behavior he'd exhibit on a spontaneous, heartbroken whim.

He'd also be sure Crowley (after a small talk, the other man had expressed his want to just be Crowley, not Anthony) would be on edge if he knew Aziraphale was taking a bath. Films had seemed to give them a bad reputation after the recurring need to show human behavior at its all time low.

There's a knock on the door that he barely hears, and quickly pulls his face from the calming spray of the shower. The door opens, and Crowley steps in.

"I didn't know what clothes to pick, but I just grabbed whatever looked like pajamas. I'll set them on the counter."

"Thank you, dear boy."

There's some shuffling, and then Crowley was gone.

He wakes up probably past noon, and he's sore and aching all over. The bruises were especially sore, and he groans as he rolls over, sitting up.

Unlike what all the books say, he knows where he's waking up, and he's glad to be here. He'd have felt sick if he woke up at home- no, Gabriel's house. 

He gets changed and goes to the kitchen, seeing Crowley there, leaning against the counter with a phone in his hand and a coffee in the other. Aziraphale brings a hand up, rubbing a hand down his face, wishing vaguely that the redhead wouldn't have LED lights for the kitchen.

"Oi, you're awake. Thought you'd sleep for a lot longer." He doesn't have the same softness he had the night (morning?) before. Though, Aziraphale could tell there was no annoyance (maybe some, for the reason stated) or aggression.

Aziraphale just hums. He feels lost, now. His routine was all off, and it unnerved him. He's always been one for routine.

He doesn't really spiral until Crowley was actually gone. At the store, for whatever purposes were on his grocery list.

He doesn't even know the television is off for a good while, but he stares blankly at it for a while. He doesn't know what makes him stop, but he's blinking and realizing there's nothing on the screen. 

He scrubs his hands at his face, grumbling quietly. 

As the day continues, he comes to know every loud sound is a no-go, every honk or shout from the street making his chest tighten and his breath hitch. He wrings his hands, mindlessly fumbling from room to room with nothing to do.

He's sure it's been a few hours. Maybe Crowley felt cooped up and needed a breather. Though, his brain pressed with different reasons, self-doubt and anxiety gnawing at him. 

He finds an old bad habit of his once more, one that was smothered by Gabriel's constant coaxing and honeyed threats. He scratches at the top of his wrist, not noticing the angry red lines appearing, not caring quite frankly.

He had established some kind of routine, but that routine involved Crowley, and the man wasn't there. He should've made a flexible routine, one that could happen with or without Crowley. But, instead, he realizes in the past few weeks his world had practically depended on him.

He finally calms himself down after a while, taking a few deep breaths and forcing himself to pull his hands away from his wrists. What would Crowley think if he saw how bad off Aziraphale was? Aziraphale certainly couldn't have that. No. He was a stable man, for the Almighty's sake. 

Crowley gets home eventually, with groceries and a dorky smile on his face. Aziraphale feels his anxieties and stress of the day melt away instantly at the sight.

"Angel, you wouldn't believe-" He's fumbling with a box. "what I got." He's putting it down, and he's practically radiating an unusual sense of joy that Aziraphale feels comforted and overwhelmed by.

Crowley runs to put the bags in the kitchen, and then is back, pulling Aziraphale down with him to sit on the floor in front of the box. He gestures to it with his hands. _Dork_.

He takes note of the holes in the box as he opens the top, and out comes a fluffy head and curious, round eyes.

He can't help but gasp.

"A kitten?"

Aziraphale takes it out of the box, setting it in his lap. Crowley draws closer, their shoulders pressing as he dotes over the small creature.

"Yep! Found her and her siblings being handed out, an' I just had to take her. She was the most rambunctious. An' then, I realized I'd need kitten supplies, yeah. So, I got the litter box and treats and food and the lady at the pet store helped me pick out the collar."

Aziraphale doesn't know what he's blown away by more. Crowley's enthusiasm and overall out of character softness, or the fact that he's getting the rare chance of seeing it, and by himself.

"What'll you name her?" He asks once Crowley was done talking. 

"I, uh, thought you'd wanna."

"Oh. Thank you, dear." He looks at the kitten, who was comfortably curled up in his lap, purring at the attention she was getting.

"Eden."

"Eden," Crowley agrees.


	5. acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growth after the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last official chapter.  
the epilogue isn't really planned, but there'll definitely be one
> 
> cw for non-graphic smut

There's warmth beside him, and he's acutely aware of it as he turns over, hiding his face from the sun that had decided to beam in.

He doesn't want to open his eyes.

He does.

There's a soft groan from his throat, the space between his eyes immediately hurting, and he squeezes them shut. 

They did have nearly 3 bottles of wine, didn't they?

There's a pause, and he's trying to open them again, and the pain was slightly less splitting. Now, he takes in the space around him, breathing softly. Painted walls, new scenes on each. The ceiling is painted black, and there's a galaxy overhead. This definitely isn't his room.

He looks down on the bed, not realizing he already sat up to take in the large murals. 

Beside him is Anth- Crowley, buried into the sheets, face pressed stubbornly into the pillow. He was clearly awake and nursing the same hangover Aziraphale had. Between them is Eden, who's curled up in the little dip on top of the blanket.

This is the second time they've had plenty to drink and he winds up to waking in Crowley's room, and sometimes there's no layers but the blanket between them. (It always brings a flush to his cheeks. Being naked in bed after a possible drunk "fling?" Unacceptable.)

They never talk about it the morning after. There's some mornings they just stare at each other, and then there's other mornings where one of them is gone before the other is even thinking of waking up. Though, they can't avoid each other in the small flat they share.

He quietly slipped out of bed, awkwardly walking to the bathroom that was connected to Crowley's room, grabbing four Ibuprofen for him and Crowley, and filled a glass full of water. He walked back, gently prodding the other man's shoulder.

"Hng." Crowley groaned, turning his head and cracking an eye open, looking at Aziraphale. They wordlessly exchange the medicine and glass of water. It's a few minutes before one of them talks.

"My ass hurts."

Aziraphale laughs.

"Really, dear? I told you to keep everything below the collar," Aziraphale said as he straightened his bow tie, looking into the mirror. There was about three whole hickeys above the light blue collar of his dress shirt, and he scowls at Crowley as the redhead laughs.

Aziraphale is quite new to the concept of being sexually active, and hardly knew what a hickey was (of course, he read about them) until Crowley had decided to latch quite literally onto his neck. 

("What are you, a vampire?" Aziraphale huffed out a laugh, looking into Crowley's hazel eyes as he pulled away.

"Maybe. Though, most vampire concepts by authors are created to be sexually appealing. Am I sexually appealing to you, angel?" He seemed to sway like a snake, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

"Oh, you wily old serpent.")

Crowley found it quite amusing, and drew closer, nose pressed to the crook of Aziraphale's neck. He leaned into him, humming quietly as his hands fell away from fretting over his bow tie. They were about to go out to eat, to celebrate the 6 months after the breakup with Gabriel. Crowley was most insistent about celebrating it. ("C'mon, angel! It's worthy. Just a small diner date. I swear.")

The moment is ruined (not really) when Crowley thinks it's a good idea to bite him. It's not really worthy of the word bite, but more of a small nip.

"You devil!" Aziraphale gasps out, swatting gently at Crowley. "At this rate, we'll never get out of the house."

Crowley offers a serpentine grin, chin resting on Aziraphale's shoulder and looking at his eyes through the mirror.

There's something peaceful about the quiet car ride home. No Freddy Mercury blasting through the radio, no Billy Joel, or any of the "be-bop" that Crowley loves to listen to. Just silence, but it's comfortable and welcoming.

Aziraphale is admittedly quite buzzed, having a few glasses of alcohol. Crowley had less, saying he couldn't, which was a smart choice, since he's the only one who knows how to drive. 

"So," Aziraphale began. His tongue was quite loosened and he didn't remind himself to think of his words. "why Crowley? Where'd that name come from."

Crowley glances at him behind dark sunglasses. "Oh, uh. It's my last name. Someone started to call me it, and then everyone started to call me it, and I just accepted it as my name. 'S better than Anthony, anyway."

"I think Anthony is a lovely name."

"Oh?"

"Yes."

There's a pause.

"At least, I think it'd be easier to say during sex."

Crowley nearly slams on the break, but instead he stubbornly keeps his eyes on the road, feeling his face turn hot. 

"Really?" His throat is dry, his voice is hoarse.

"Yeah..." Aziraphale trails off. "Think about it. _Crow-ley_. _Anth-oh-nee." _

Crowley rolls his eyes. "Okay. Yeah."

The rest of the car ride is silent.

"Dear, we were drinking last night!" Aziraphale was protesting, but Crowley was insistent on getting two shot glasses and pouring them each a shot of whiskey.

"Aw, c'mon. Rich people drink with every meal. I think we'll be fine."

Aziraphale's protests die when the shot glass is pressed into his hands, and there's a scrape of lips on his cheek that is all too enticing.

They sit on the sofa in the living room, Crowley sprawled out with a leg on Aziraphale's lap and the other on the floor. Aziraphale is simply sitting, posture impeccable as usual.

Eden makes an appearance after a moment, meowing loudly, too small to just jump up onto the seat. Aziraphale leaned forward, gathering her into his hands and putting her between them. She purred her thanks, curling up next to his thigh. He pets her head gently.

"So, have you got any o' those sappy ex texts from Gabriel yet?" Crowley asks, already half done with his glass.

"Fortunately, no. Though, I think you would've known if he had."

"I'd better."

Aziraphale laughs. "You will, dear."

"Mh." Crowley is laying on his stomach, looking up at Aziraphale. 

They both feel boneless, and Crowley is softly dragging his hand up and down Aziraphale's side. 

"Hm?" Aziraphale hums in response, head tipped up and eyes shut, basking in the afterglow.

"Sexy."

Aziraphale laughs, one of question, looking down at Crowley. 

"What?"

"You."

They're both laughing, or more of giggling, like two teenage girls during their first sleepover together.

"I'm not."

"You are! You're what the kids call... uh... I think it's 'dummy thick?'" 

This really makes Aziraphale laugh.

"I don't think anyone says 'dummy thick.'"

"Oh, they do, angel. You just haven't used a computer that was made past 2004."

"And I quite like my life style," He says matter-of-factly.

"Uh-huh. You live like a grandpa."

"Well, we're both old enough to be grandparents. So, what's your point, dear?"

"At least make an effort!"

Aziraphale rolls his eyes, bending down to kiss him. 

Backseats aren't the most comfortable. They're a bit too cramped, the seat itself too big to hold two people trying to lay horizontally. Though, many people in the past have somehow succeeded.

"Oh, I'm too old for this," Aziraphale complained, even though the way he arched enthusiastically into Crowley's touch said otherwise. The leather seating is making his skin stick to it, and he finds it weird to feel the peeling sensation with every movement.

"Sh, sh, you're _not_." Crowley, ever the one for toughing things out, counters. 

"I _am_!" Aziraphale bites off a moan, shutting his eyes against the spark of arousal that stirred in his belly. Crowley continues to press forward stubbornly, nipping gently at Aziraphale's collar bone.

"Oh, oh, Crowley, please do go faster."

"As you wish, angel."

"Have I ever told you how much I _love _your thighs?"

"Yes, dear."

Crowley has his head in his lap, and Aziraphale's fingers are brushing through the long strands, though his focus was on the book he was holding. 

"If I had to eat any part of you, it'd be your thighs."

"That's..." Aziraphale blinks, and looks down at Crowley, who's grinning up at him. "You devil. That's horribly grotesque."

"Never said I was an angel, did I, angel?" 

Aziraphale rolls his eyes, smiling. He leans forward and pecks Crowley on the lips.

"You're a nightmare."

"I aim for it."

"I know you do, dear."

"I didn't say you could stop kissing me, now did I?" Crowley's grin is becoming wider.

Aziraphale laughs, sitting up. "I don't recall, dear." He looks back at his book.

Crowley makes a faux sound of hurt. "Even my own angel doesn't listen to me."

"Unlike your plants, I don't listen to petty threats, dear boy." Aziraphale is hiding a smile by pressing his book closer to his face.

"Wh- you know?!"

"Yes! You're horribly loud."

There's always a calm after the storm, the way that there's a stillness and everything ceases to exist for just a period of time. The sun comes out, the animals and insects resume their lives.

Sometimes it's a hurricane, and communities always seem to rebuild themselves, no matter how harsh the damage. Nothing is never "unfixable." It just means more patience is required.

Watching Aziraphale fall asleep with a book in his lap, Eden pressed into the side of his thigh, is like watching the storm finally stop, and Crowley finds himself smiling.

He gets to his feet, grabbing the small blanket from off the couch and pulling the book out of Aziraphale's now loose grasp. He pulls the blanket over him, making sure not to cover Eden completely.

He steps back.

The sun is finally bright yet again.


End file.
